


When I look at you, I see myself

by ariverofthings



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter is back, Peter offends Tony, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Several deals are made, Several more churros are promised, Thanos is defeated somehow, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Lives, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-25 02:29:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20716598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariverofthings/pseuds/ariverofthings
Summary: AU after Avengers: Endgame in which Tony doesn't die, someone else kills Thanos (somehow) and Peter Parker is dealing with the aftermath of being Snapped.orThe conversation we never got to see between Peter and Tony





	When I look at you, I see myself

**Author's Note:**

> This idea just kind of popped into my head one day and I couldn't stop thinking about it, so here it is written down. Most likely will just be a one-shot, set one week after the end of Avengers Endgame. Rated T for swearing  
I hope this satisfies your needs as much as it satisfied mine when I wrote it!

Peter gripped his mug of tea tightly, staring unseeingly into its steaming depths as the warmth from the mug sent tingles down his hand. It had been a long time since he’d felt this calm.

Then again, it had been a long time for a lot of things.

On the other side of the kitchen counter, he could feel Tony bustling around, serving up two perfect cinnamon scrolls on two empty plates. Peter wondered, briefly, where Tony had acquired such a rare delicacy. For as long as he could remember, the billionaire had been more of the KFC-takeout type.

Then again, he couldn’t remember very much anymore.

Having finished his plating of scrolls, Tony caught Peter’s attention and beckoned for him to follow him into the living room. Peter complied, grabbing his cinnamon scroll in one hand and his mug of tea in the other as he trailed after Tony. It was a surreal experience to see the man leading him through such a normal, civilian household - of all the things that he’d learned about the past five years, one of the most startling had been the revelation that Tony Stark had apparently lost his taste for towering, billion-dollar skyscrapers, and was instead quite content with residing in a modest family home.

Although, Peter had to admit, Morgan came as significantly more of a surprise. He definitely hadn’t expected that.

“Sit down, kid,” came Tony’s familiar voice, jolting him out of his musings. Peter returned to the present and settled himself on the cushy armchair across from Tony, who was seated on the couch. Tony placed his tea and cinnamon scroll on the coffee table (again, an unexpectedly modest instalment) and Peter followed suit.

“Nice house,” was the first thing that came out of his mouth. Probably not one of his smoothest conversation openers, admittedly, but given the circumstances, Peter figured he could cut himself some slack. He had been missing in action for the past five years, after all.

“You think?” Tony asked, taking a sip of his tea.

“Yeah,” Peter shrugged. “I mean, it’s definitely kind of a downgrade, you know, but who’s to say that’s a bad thing? Stark Tower was good and all, but I can see why you ditched it, it’d be kind of creepy having an entire skyscraper to yourself. Especially late at night.”

“If I’m being honest with you, kid,” Tony told him, a twinkle in his eye now, “it was just a pain in the arse to maintain. Too many elevators, too many living rooms, that kind of thing.”

“So you don’t miss it at all?” Peter asked him. “The whole owning-your-own-skyscraper thing?”

“I’m not going to lie, it had its perks,” Tony admitted. “Having a whole floor to myself, now that was nice. But I figured, it’s time for a healthy change of scene. Something different.”

“Well, this definitely classifies as different,” Peter muttered, surveying the oddly minimalistic nature of the living room.

“Is that a negative attitude I sense?” Tony teased, shooting Peter an accusatory glare. “Is Peter Parker dissing my new house?”

“I wouldn’t call it _dissing_,” Peter protested, and he picked up his mug of tea and took a sip of his own. “Just...observing. You seem to have lost your taste for all things bright and expensive, that’s all.”

“You know what, Pete, I’m actually disappointed,” Tony told him jokingly “Here I was, thinking you were gonna be so impressed with my new, healthy, peaceful dwellings, and all I get is your usual teenage disapproval.”

“Hey, this isn’t disapproval,” Peter argued. “I mean sure, it’s not approval either, but I never said I hated it, did I?”

“Kid, I thought you were smart,” Tony continued, a teasing glint in his eye. “Have you never bothered to educate yourself on the beneficial effects of living in the countryside? Extra Vitamin D, fresher air, more space outdoors, less people, or rather, less harassing paparazzi lunatics...I’ve gotta say, this new house is having a seriously positive impact on my physical wellbeing. At this rate, I’ve probably increased my life expectancy by about twenty years. Don’t you care about my life expectancy?”

_Damn it_. He’d forgotten that Tony Stark knew how to play. Shooting the man one of his best killer glares, Peter picked up his cinnamon scroll and took an annoyed bite. “I hate it when you do that.”

“Do what?” Tony asked, raising an amused eyebrow.

“Try to confuse me with all these weird research facts that you obviously made up,” Peter responded. “And then guilt me, as well.”

Tony shot him an affectionate grin. “Just keeping you on your toes, kid.” “

You keep me on my toes way too much,” Peter grumbled. “My toes need a break. They hurt.”

“Well, look on the bright side,” Tony replied easily. “You’re gonna have incredibly strong toes. You never know, you might even be able to finally impress that girl you always used to go on about.”

At this, Peter couldn’t help but blush, despite himself. “Who, MJ?”

“Yeah, that one,” Tony confirmed through a mouthful of scroll. “Just walk up to her and be like, Hey, by the way, did I ever mention I have super-strength toes? It’s a surefire way to get yourself a date, trust me.”

“Yeah, because you’re such a reliable source,” Peter retorted. “How much experience have you even had with dating, anyway?"

Tony scoffed at this, obviously affronted. “A hell of a lot more than you, kid,” he smirked. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m married. I have a daughter.”

Peter had noticed, actually. He had spent the majority of the past week trying to come to terms with the fact that Tony Stark, the multi-billionaire genius Iron Man, now had a daughter. Every time he thought he’d gotten used to this fact, he was overwhelmed by a sudden surge of disbelief and managed to convince himself that it was all mere rumours. Until, of course, moments like these happened, and he was forcibly reminded that it was, indeed, true.

“Pete, you’ve gone quiet,” Tony observed factually, taking another bite of his scroll. “What’s wrong?”

Peter swallowed, unsure of how to respond to this. It wasn’t that anything was wrong in particular, but on the other hand, nothing felt right either. His mind was a confused jumble of conflicting thoughts and emotions, and he had absolutely no idea how to go about processing them. Five years had gone by in the blink of an eye; his whole world had been turned upside down. He’d been hammered with more new information in the past week than he’d ever been hammered with in his entire life. It was almost as if his brain was short-circuiting, an instinctual response to the sensory overload that had burdened his mind ever since the Unsnappening.

“It’s just a lot,” he confessed finally, the words tumbling ungraciously out of his mouth. “I mean - this whole ‘five years has passed, get used to it’ thing...it’s just...a lot.”

Wincing at his apparent incapability to appear even mildly articulate, Peter hurriedly busied himself with his tea. He could feel Tony’s careful eyes on him, and it took the man a while to speak.

“In what way?” he asked steadily.

Peter drew in a shaky breath and released it slowly. He took his time; he fiddled with his cinnamon scroll, he took more unnecessary sips of his tea. Finally, when the question could be avoided no longer, he attempted once more to voice the confusing mess of thoughts, worries and doubts that plagued his mind.

“I dunno,” Peter began, somewhat shakily. “Well, Aunt May snapped as well, right, so it’s not like she even missed me. It’s all stupid, really. But, I dunno, just getting back and hearing all this stuff - all these things you guys have been doing, trying to get us back - it’s just a lot to take in, you know? It’s kind of...well...it kind of feels like I’ve come back from the dead, or something.”

“Five years is a long time,” Tony pointed out, nodding at Peter’s words. “It’s only natural for you to feel this way, kid.”

Peter bit his lip. Vaguely, he noticed that he was jostling his knees, moving them up and down on the balls of his feet, but he couldn’t seem to stop the motion. Nervous movement, he supposed. Something was eating away at him - an urgent kind of confession that he had to get off his chest - but the problem was, he couldn’t even work out what, exactly, he was so desperate to reveal-

“I feel so behind,” he blurted suddenly. “Compared to you and the others, you know? Steve, and Bucky, and Sam, and Nat, and Bruce, and - just all of them, I guess. I mean, I was already behind to begin with, ‘cause I was the youngest one of you guys, and that was cool but it also kind of sucked sometimes, and now it just feels even worse.”

“I can assure you, Pete, you haven’t missed out on much,” Tony told him, his eyes full of concern as he attempted to console Peter. “The Avengers have basically been in shambles. Everything just kind of went to shit.”

It was a credit to the severity of Peter’s state of disarray that he didn’t even find it mildly amusing to hear Tony swear. On the contrary, the urgent feeling inside of him only increased, manifesting into a painful, desperate, constricting ball in his chest that tightened around his lungs until he could barely breathe.

_Everything just kind of went to shit._

And suddenly, Peter knew exactly what he needed to say to Tony.

“I just - I can’t - I - I’m sorry,” he got out, his voice strangled and contorted.

At this, Tony looked completely bewildered. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” Peter repeated, more clearly this time, and as soon as he spoke the two words it felt as though a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders, a burden that he didn’t even know he’d been carrying. “For being such an idiot. For coming with you on the ship that day, even when you told me not to. For - I don’t know - for losing, and not being better, not doing as good as I could have, not fighting hard enough, for letting myself get Snapped-”

“Whoa, whoa, Pete, let me just stop you right there,” Tony interrupted, holding up a hand to break off Peter’s increasingly frantic tirade. Peter’s strangled words died in his throat as he made eye contact with Tony and saw the look on the man’s face. His expression was an odd mixture of concerned, horrified, and almost….pained?

“You,” Tony said, very clearly and loudly, “do not need to apologise.”

Peter closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. Of course Tony would say something like this - but he had to make him understand, make him see-

“But that’s the thing, I do,” he protested, his voice rising unsteadily. “If I hadn’t been such an idiot, if I’d just done what you told me to do, I never would’ve gotten involved in that huge mess and I never would’ve gotten myself Snapped and maybe Thanos wouldn’t have even Snapped in the first place, and you guys would never have been left to deal with the aftermath-”

“Peter, there is no way in hell you could have stopped the Snap,” Tony interrupted, his eyes boring into Peter’s with earnest, willing him to understand. “No way, do you hear what I’m saying? You’re just a kid, for god’s sakes, a fifteen year old kid. It’s not up to you to save the world, especially not when dozens of fully-grown adults couldn’t even save it themselves. What happened in Titan, that wasn’t your fault, okay? You have to understand that. Thanos was just too strong.”

Agitatedly, Peter ran a hand through his hair. He could feel it all coming to the surface; the confusion, the despair, the guilt. Even worse, tears were stinging his eyes, blurring his vision as they accumulated, and he willed himself not to let them fall.

“But...I failed you,” he admitted miserably, staring down at his hands. Even to himself, the words sounded childish.

“No, you didn’t,” Tony replied. “Listen to me, kid. There was absolutely nothing you could have done to stop this. That goes for all of us. We tried, but it happened anyway, and that’s something I’ve been trying to deal with for the last five years. But if there’s one thing I’m certain of, it’s that this wasn’t your fault. You didn’t fail me. How could you? The situation was out of our hands.”

It was happening: the tears were falling. Streaming down his face steadily and silently, dripping from his jaw into his half-finished mug of tea, leaving salty tracks on his cheeks as they welled from his eyes. He tried to stop them, but all semblance of control over his emotions had vanished.

Tony had noticed the tears, now; Peter could feel the man’s alarmed gaze upon his own face, evidently taken aback. The man didn’t speak for another long moment, instead choosing to take a deep breath of his own. After a few terrible seconds, he continued talking.

“Pete, if there’s anyone who should be apologising, it’s me,” he admitted finally.

Peter looked up sharply, confusion momentarily overriding his distress as he processed Tony’s words. “W-what?”

Tony let out a long-suffering sigh; when he next spoke, it was slowly and carefully, as though every word caused him a tremendous deal of pain.

"Look, kid, I'm the one who brought you into this whole mess," Tony began. "I'm the one who gave you the suit, I'm the one who made you an Avenger. You have nothing to feel guilty for - this whole thing is on me."

Well, that certainly hadn't been what he was expecting. The tears were still streaming down his face, but he ignored them as he struggled to understand what Tony was saying. Temporarily speechless, he took another bite of cinnamon scroll.

"You - you think it's your fault?" Peter realised after a moment, watching Tony incredulously.

Tony nodded slowly, his gaze still fixated on Peter. "Yep, that's what I'm saying, kid."

"Well it's not," Peter told him, and he was suddenly sure of the truth of his words. "Like I said, I'm the one who came on the ship, even when you told me not to-"

"So just because you stowed away on a flying donut, you think you're responsible for Thanos dusting half the universe?" Tony asked him pointedly, eyebrow raised.

Peter sighed, casting his eyes downwards; the more he talked, the more he realised the ridiculous nature of his worries. Still, if he was going to embarrass himself in front of Tony, he may as well finish the job.

"Not half the universe," he admitted quietly. "Just - you. Letting you down."

When Tony didn't speak for a minute, he risked a tentative glance upwards. Tony was watching Peter wordlessly, running a weary hand over his face. Never before had Peter seen Tony Stark look so exhausted.

"Listen, Pete, you've gotta stop saying that," Tony said eventually. "It's not your fault, okay? You didn't let me down - the only person who did that was Thanos, when the bastard snapped his fingers and decided to wipe half of all life from existence. I don't blame anyone but him."

Peter couldn't help himself.

"And yourself," he added, a small grin quirking his lips.

"Well, kind of, but that's beside the point," Tony said impatiently. "What I'm trying to say is-"

"Nu-uh," Peter quickly countered, a small grin now quirking his lips because it was easier to joke than to keep talking about his stupid, laughable fears. "You said you think it's your fault. You _said it_, Mr Stark."

"I guess, Pete, but that's not what I'm-"

"Hey, you can't tell me not to blame myself if you're doing the exact same thing."

The words had tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them; instantly, Peter clamped his mouth shut, mortified at his uncontrollable case of word vomit. He watched Tony nervously, sure that he had finally gone too far. But, to his great surprise, Tony didn't look upset, or mad, or annoyed. In fact, after a few seconds, he began to grin.

"Well, _I_ hate it when you do that," Tony murmured, echoing Peter's earlier words.

"Do what?" Peter asked, taken aback.

"Baffle me with your sudden ability to be logical," Tony told him. The billionaire was still smiling, and his grin was infectious; despite himself, Peter's expression erupted into a proper smile.

"Well, I mean, it's true," he protested weakly. "How can I listen to you when you're being a hypocrite?"

Tony observed him for a few seconds, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

"Okay, kid, how about this," he offered. "I'll try to stop blaming myself, if and only if you promise to stop apologising to me. I don't need anymore of that from you, you got that?"

The deal was tempting, but Peter still felt an inexplicable need to resist.

"But-" he argued, but Tony cut him off.

"No buts, kid. This is plain and simple. You've already told me that you're sorry about fifty times, and if I hear it once more, I hate to say it, but I'll probably break down in tears."

"Well, now I'm curious," Peter replied teasingly. "Tony Stark, crying? That's something I want to see."

"No, you don't. Trust me. It's a pretty ugly sight," Tony joked. "Now, come on kid, you gonna save me the emotional turmoil and just agree to the deal?"

Peter sighed, running a hand through his hair. He could still think of a million reasons why he should argue further, a million things he still had to say to Tony, a million things he still had to apologise for. But he could still feel Tony's gaze on him, and as he met those familiar eyes, he felt his resolve slipping away, deflating into nothing as his desire to just go back to the way things were overrode everything else.

"Okay," he agreed finally. "All right. Okay." He paused, an idea popping into his head. "But you owe me churros," Peter added. "For the rest of the week."

Tony rolled his eyes, but grinned nonetheless. "Okay, deal," Tony nodded. "But if you get diagnosed with diabetes, I had no part in it. Got that?"

“Got it,” Peter agreed, knowing deep down that this wouldn’t be a problem at all. His enhanced metabolism basically prevented him from gaining any weight whatsoever, regardless of how much junk food he shovelled down.

Wiping his face clear of dried tears, Peter shoved the last bite of his cinnamon scroll into his mouth and downed the last of his tea. “Where’s Morgan and Pepper?” he asked, feeling that a change of topic was definitely in order. He already felt extremely embarrassed, crying and blubbering as he had in front of Tony, and a light-hearted distraction was more than overdue.

“They’re not in right now,” Tony replied, taking a sip of his own tea. “Pep took her to the park, I think. Why?”

Peter shrugged, another grin playing on his lips. “Dunno. The place is just kinda boring without them, that’s all.”

Tony drew back, an expression of mock hurt crossing his face. “So what does that make me, then? Am I just a contributing factor to your boredom?”

“No, no, you’re cool and all,” Peter joked. “I guess. Kind of. But like, Morgan really rocks your iron man helmet. I’d go so far as to say that she maybe even-”

“Do not,” Tony interrupted suddenly, glaring at Peter, “tell me that my own daughter wears my iron man helmet better than me.”

Peter snorted. He knew full well what would follow if he uttered the next phrase, but the urge to rub Tony the wrong way was just so incredibly overwhelming.

“I don’t know, Mr Stark-” he began.

“Don’t say it.”

“-it’s a close call, but-”

“Don’t say it, kid.”

“-if you want my opinion-”

“I really don’t.”

“-not trying to be rude or anything-”

“Really? ‘Cause you're doing a pretty good job-”

“-I think she might just have you beaten.”

Tony winced, slamming his fist down on the table good-naturedly. “Damn it, Pete! You had to go and say it, didn’t you?”

Peter shrugged, smirking. “Honesty is the best policy, isn’t that what they say?”

“I can’t believe this,” Tony muttered. “I can’t believe this. You’re trying to tell me that my own kid wears the helmet better than me? The helmet that I invented, might I add?”

Oh, Peter was immensely enjoying this.

“Well, y’know, it suits her well,” he continued. “And by that I mean literally _suits_ her, if you get my drift? The Iron Man suit, gee, it really suits her...”

Tony glared at him, setting his mug of tea down on the coffee table with his free hand. “Okay, note to self: we need to work on your puns,” he muttered, more to himself than Peter.

“Oh, says you,” Peter scoffed. “You couldn’t make a laughable joke if you tried. I mean, what’s your best one, really, apart from all the one-liners that you obviously pulled out of a copy of Pick-up Lines for Dummies?”

“That’s it, you’ve committed the cardinal sin.”

“No, I’m just casually observing that your idea of humour isn’t much better than mine,” Peter protested.

“Kid, you’re starting a war that you don’t want to have.”

“No, scrap the pick-up lines, you probably sleep with a book of 1001 Dad Jokes under your pillow every night.”

“I’m really regretting giving you that hug right now.”

Peter gasped in mock offence. Having waited almost two years for that hug (actually, technically it had been seven, if he was including the five years he’d been Snapped), it had been no small affair when Tony had finally given him one. And he was not about to let the man take that achievement away.

“Whoa, okay, too far, too far,” he cried, holding his hands up defensively. “That hug was way overdue, you can’t just say stuff like that, it’s kind of a sensitive topic-”

“Not my fault, Pete,” Tony shrugged, in a _don’t-shoot-the-messenger_ kind of gesture. “You started the war, I had to retaliate. Besides, you ever thought about the fact that the quality of my jokes are just as sensitive of a topic as your weird need for physical affection?”

Peter ground his teeth in annoyance. Somehow, Tony had cornered him. He _had_ to stop letting this happen.

“Okay, okay, got it,” he sighed defeatedly. “No more attacking your jokes.”

“And likewise, I’ll never speak ill of The Hug again,” Tony grinned. “We’re making a lot of deals today, you notice that?” “

Yeah, I did, actually,” Peter agreed. “You wanna bet on who breaks them first?”

“Well, that’s easy,” Tony announced. “For the second deal, I can one hundred percent guarantee that you’ll be first to crack. You can’t resist coming at my jokes. It’s a little sad, honestly, you’ve really gotta get yourself a better pastime.”

Peter grinned, knowing deep down that Tony was probably right, but feeling inclined to disagree all the same.

“Okay, I bet you another churro that that’s not gonna happen,” he challenged.

“You’re on, kid,” Tony agreed, finishing off his tea as he confirmed the deal.

Peter nodded determinedly, clamping his jaw shut in resolute defiance. He didn’t care what it took - whether he had to keep his mouth shut for days, weeks, months or even years - he was _not_ losing this bet to Tony. Not if another churro was on the line.

For a moment, there was a silence. Peter half-expected Tony to bring up the other deal they’d made, but Tony didn’t speak, and Peter wasn’t inclined to raise the subject himself. If he was being honest, it was kind of a relief, because Peter knew that if they were to bet on who would break the deal first, he’d undoubtedly lose. Despite what he’d said to Tony, the guilt was still niggling away at him, a constant source of unease. Talking it out with Tony had helped, but it hadn’t alleviated the feelings completely. Peter didn’t think they ever would be alleviated. Not entirely.

Maybe Tony was thinking the same thing.

“Rightio,” Tony said after a moment, getting to his feet. Picking up both their discarded mugs and plates, he turned and sidled out of the room, towards the kitchen.

“Where are you going?” Peter called at his retreating back.

“To go write myself a sticky note,” Tony replied. “I’m gonna forget this churro thing otherwise.”

“It’s for a whole week, remember!” Peter reminded him.

“Don’t remind me, it’s only making me regret my decision.”

“Hey, it’s for a good cause,” Peter argued good-naturedly.

“A lot of things are. Doesn’t make them any less annoying.”

Peter sighed, rolling his eyes as Tony disappeared from sight. He was still getting used to Tony’s seemingly endless supply of smooth comebacks; he’d forgotten how stubborn the guy was, if he was being honest. Still, he mused as he eased back onto the couch, he had missed it. The jokes, the casual banter, the good-natured arguing. The way he felt right now, all calm and content and…happy?

No, not completely, Peter decided. The gaping chasm of guilt was still there, but for the first time since coming out of the portal, there was something else, too; a warm, fuzzy, comforting ball. Settled inside of his chest, like a lighthouse of safety, surrounded by dark and treacherous waters but somehow keeping them at bay. It didn’t completely fill the great, painful, raw hollow, but it was undeniably there.

And for now, Peter thought, that was enough.


End file.
